


But If You'll Really Hold Me Tight

by hologramophone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hologramophone/pseuds/hologramophone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for seannyboy14’s prompt: Do a christmas one like one where stiles asks for a puppy and then gets derek. :)</p><p>
  <i>“Do you think I should get a dog?” Stiles asks.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Scott shoots him a puzzled look as they stand in line at the hot chocolate stand.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Like, I know I asked you once if I’m attractive to gay guys, but you actually have first-hand experience with this topic,” Stiles presses.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You mean, being a wolf? Or working with dogs?” Scott asks discreetly, or what he thinks is discreetly but is actually just a conspicuous hand cupped around his mouth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	But If You'll Really Hold Me Tight

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is probably completely different from what was expected from the prompt for so I apologize, but this is where my head went.
> 
> Also, this is slightly AU as it’s assumed that they go full-wolf and not just wolf-man hybrid-thing...

It’s the first night of Christmas break, and the Mass Effect has been played, the packages of Red Vines and Reese’s cups destroyed, and Scott is already conked out on the couch next to him, snoring softly.

Stiles is still bouncing his knees though, absentmindedly flicking at the Xbox controller, his thoughts still chugging along at full speed.

He probably shouldn’t have had that last Monster.

And that’s how he finds himself flipping through the infomercials at 2 a.m. until he hits the only program not trying to sell him a juicer: “The Hallmark Hall of Fame presents, _A Dog Named Christmas_.”

It’s a good thing Scott’s asleep, because he spends the next two hours watching a movie about a young man with a learning disability who tries to get all the dogs at his local shelter adopted, and he absolutely does _not_ tear up at the end when Christmas finds his way back to Todd’s family.

Stiles finally falls asleep thinking up more kick-ass dog names than ‘Christmas’, as Sara McLachlan serenades him over the end credits.

 

 

* * *

He’s seen photos of shelter dogs tacked up at the animal clinic on his visits to see Scott.

The next morning his BFF runs off to rendezvous with Allison, so Dr. Deaton lets Stiles in and goes back to his office.

“Let me know if you want to visit any of them at the shelter – I can let Steve know you’re coming,” he calls over his shoulder.

Stiles shouts his thanks, and looks over the board labeled _Woof! We need a home_. There’s Louie, a Doberman pinscher with giant chocolate eyes, Casey, an American Bulldog with his head cocked adorably in his photo, and a dozen other equally charming dogs of all sizes and ages. It makes Stiles sad that he can’t adopt them all, but he can’t settle on a single one either.

He sticks his head into Deaton’s office to tell him so, but the veterinarian’s not at his desk and Stiles can hear _O Come All Ye Faithful_ being whistled from the storeroom. He’s about to step out into the hall again, but a photo propped up on Deaton’s desk catches his eye. Maybe it’s one the vet hasn’t had time to post yet.

Stiles picks it up. The photo paper feels and looks a little older, but the image is of two puppies playing, the brown one leaping away from where the smaller black one is sprawled out on a clump of grass, his tiny snout turned up in a little ‘o’ like he’s trying to howl.

Stiles instantly wants to cuddle the little one and take him home.

He jogs out to the storeroom with the photo, sliding through the door and almost knocking over a shelf of dog kibble.

“Doc, I’m getting a dog!” Stiles shouts. “Er, well, I’m getting a dog, my dad just doesn’t know it yet. Can I take the photo with me?”

Doctor Deaton hardly looks up, just chuckles and tells him that’s fine, and to let him know if his dad needs any extra persuading.

* * *

“No, Stiles.”

“But, man’s best friend, dad! Scott’s great but even he’s not as cuddly as this little guy,” Stiles says, thrusting the photo in his dad’s face.

Scott’s actually much cuddlier these days but there are certain details Stiles needs to withhold from his dad. Plus, Scott would probably be less than amused if Stiles asked him to play fetch.

And the sheriff does smile at the photo of the adorable puppy. It’s totally a smile, but then he ruins it by sighing deeply. “I’m too busy with work and you have school and lacrosse. We’re not home nearly enough to train and care for a puppy, Stiles.”

Stiles retaliates-slash-demonstrates how good of a caretaker his is by loading more brussels sprouts onto his dad’s plate. “We could ask Mrs. McKinnon next door to check on him if we’re out for too long,” Stiles wheedles. “And I’d be a great trainer!”

The sheriff raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you remember Sprinkles?”

Stiles cringes. Sprinkles had been his cousin Paige’s cat that many Christmases ago, he’d inadvertently taught to hack hairballs onto his great-aunt Evelyn’s shoes. And that no one managed to un-teach. He hasn’t seen Sprinkles at Christmas in a long time.

“Yeah, but it’d be so much easier with Scott’s, uh, skills…that he’s learned from working for Dr. Deaton,” Stiles finishes, chuckling nervously.

The sheriff doesn’t notice. “Stiles, you’ll be going to college in a year and a half. It wouldn’t be fair to me or the dog for you to leave us in that situation,” he explains quietly.

And so Stiles drops it. They haven’t really talked about college, and the thought of leaving his dad already makes his chest ache.

Their meal continues in silence, until Stiles decides to enlighten him on the stability of sea otter populations in northern California, and the psychological benefits of seeing them hold hands on Youtube (“Hang on, let me get my laptop”).

When his dad finally cracks an exasperated smile, Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

“Do you think I should get a dog?” Stiles asks.

Scott shoots him a puzzled look as they stand in line at the hot chocolate stand.

“Like, I know I asked you once if I’m attractive to gay guys, but you actually have first-hand experience with this topic,” Stiles presses.

“You mean, being a wolf? Or working with dogs?” Scott asks discreetly, or what he thinks is discreetly but is actually just a conspicuous hand cupped around his mouth.

“Both! You could do your whole ‘Dog Whisperer’ thing and teach Ace to roll over.”

“Ace, as in Ace the Bat-Hound?” Erica cuts in, as she, Boyd and Isaac walk up in line behind them.

“Yes! And this, Erica, is why you’re my favorite,” Stiles beams at her. She grins smugly, and flips her hair over her shoulder.

She’s been spending too much time around Lydia.

It’s awesome.

Stiles pulls out the crumpled photo and points to the black ball of fluff. “Behold, the cutest puppy you’ve ever seen.”

All four wolves lean in.

“Is he being bullied by the other one?”

“I think he’s crying.”

“I like the brown one more.”

“Stiles, that kind of looks like-“

“The best canine sidekick to ever kick…sides?” Stiles cuts in. “Yes, yes he is.”

* * *

Derek moves out of the railroad depot the following week and into an actual two-bedroom apartment on the west side, and the pack chips in to paint and decorate it as Derek’s Christmas present.

Other than specifying a “neutral palette”, Derek has pretty much given them carte blanche over the interior design.

And by _them_ , that pretty much means Lydia.

She’s dragged the rest of the pack out on a Pottery Barn run, leaving Stiles behind to help Derek unpack. He’s been banned from all further input after referring to the paint swatch for the bathroom as “Jeep-rust colored”. Derek smirked at that though, so Stiles counts it as a win.

Stiles watches from the breakfast bar as Derek hooks up the new sound system. The few boxes that constitute all of Derek’s possessions sit around his feet, and although he’s been instructed not to touch anything, he hasn’t been told to shut up yet.

He’s really starting to feel like Derek’s matured as a person. That, or he’s learned how to tune Stiles out when he’s talking about the traditional ingredients of wassail or what the hell Mary and Joseph were supposed to do with frankincense and myrrh, way to go Wise Man that brought gold. Either way, Stiles feels like their relationship has really grown.

And then he realizes- “I haven’t shown you my puppy!”

There’s a thud from where Derek’s plugging something in under the TV stand.

Derek emerges, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at Stiles, and Stiles tries futilely to smooth out the photo on his lap when Derek suddenly _freezes_. He’s staring blankly at the picture, upside down in Stiles’ hands.

“Where did you get that,” he asks quietly.

Stiles frowns. “The…the animal clinic. They have photos of dogs for adoption-“

“Those aren’t dogs, and they’re not for adoption,” Derek says, eyes still locked on the photo. “Who gave that to you?”

“It was on Deaton’s desk – I thought he was going it post it…” Stiles trails off at the pained expression that’s overtaken Derek’s face. “Derek?”

The Alpha takes several deep breaths, and Stiles can see him clenching and unclenching his fists, a sign he’s learned to recognize as ‘extreme emotion’ in Derek. “Laura always had a brown coat with tufts of white hair as a wolf. She picked on me all the time when we were kids,” he whispers.

Stiles stares down at the photo in which the brown pup is hopping away like she’s just pushed the little one over, a shock of white fur visible on her belly. “You mean, this is…I’m looking at your _baby picture_?”

It’s the broken look on Derek’s face that confirms it, that has Stiles jumping up and shoving the photo into Derek’s hands. “I’m sorry I crinkled it, I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Stiles says, and he wants to apologize for a lot of things, for digging up her body, for digging up her memory, but Derek’s clutching the picture anyway.

“She was always such a brat,” he mutters, letting out a choked laugh.

Stiles watches him stroke a thumb over the photo, before turning it over. There’s a handwritten message on the back that Stiles never noticed until now.

_To Alan – Thanks for your help with the rascals. Love, Anne and Eddie._

A snuffle draws Stiles’ gaze back to Derek’s face, where he’s wiping a hand over one eye. Stiles sees the moment Derek catches him staring and tries to steel his features, coughing abashedly and looking away. Which, is not okay, because Stiles gets it, he really does. There’s a photo hidden in his drawer of him and his mom, her gleeful smile matching his as they dance to Tag Team’s _Whoomp! There It Is_. He only takes it out when he’s alone, because sometimes he still misses her so badly it hurts, and all he can do is cry.

So Stiles gets it, and that’s why he can’t just let Derek go back to being the unfeeling, invulnerable Alpha.

“No,” he mumbles into Derek’s shoulder, arms thrown around him as Derek’s body goes stiff against his. “Stop, just…it’s okay.”

It’s like Derek’s afraid to breathe, but then he slowly deflates, until Stiles feels his hands press against his sides and Derek’s breath shudders out over Stiles’ neck.

Stiles just adjusts his own arms and holds Derek tighter.

He’s not sure how long they stand there clinging to one another, but at some point they hear keys clicking in the lock and they each take a step back, just as Lydia struts in directing pieces of décor into the various rooms.

They spend the rest of the afternoon nailing things to walls and trying out different arrangements of accent pieces, until everyone’s sick of throw pillows and the ‘decorative bowls’ Lydia keeps fussing over.

Also, Stiles keeps seeing Derek’s fingers brush over his pocket, so he makes an executive decision.

“All right, we can finish this up after Christmas,” he announces over Lydia’s protests, as all the wolves plus Allison make a beeline for the front door.

Stiles ushers Lydia out, catching Derek’s grateful look just before he shuts the door behind him.

 

* * *

On Christmas Day, all the pack-members are with their families, or with other pack-members’ families, except for one.

“Can we have another person over for Christmas dinner?” Stiles blurts, as he’s shelling peas in the kitchen with his dad. “We always have way too much food. Especially since you vetoed the Tofurkey.”

The sheriff sets down his knife and turns towards him. “Is this third person Derek Hale?”

Stiles gapes. “Uhh…”

“Son, word gets around when a bunch of high school kids start hanging around a former person-of-interest in his twenties. Yet Melissa McCall assures me that he’s not trying to sell you drugs, nor recruit you into any gangs-“

Stiles yelps. “Of course not! He’s just…a friend, Dad, really, it’s a drug and gang-free friendship.”

“…And he’s home alone for Christmas?” the sheriff asks.

Stiles nods.

“Tell him to be here at seven.”

Stiles whoops, and throws his arms around his dad, before running up the stairs to grab a wrapped package and rushing out the door. “I’ll be right back! Just letting him know!”

“Wait a minute, I thought you were just going to call him, where are you going? These peas aren’t all shelled!” the sheriff yells after him.

 

* * *

Stiles bounds up the stairs of the apartment complex and hasn’t even drawn back to knock when the door opens to Derek’s bemused face.

“Merry Christmas!” Stiles exclaims, shoving the package at Derek’s chest. Derek spends a moment just staring at it.

“You’re supposed to open it,” Stiles says, before Derek glowers at him and rips off the paper. It’s an empty picture frame with the word _Family_ etched in the corner.

When Derek doesn’t speak, Stiles thinks maybe that was too much, maybe he should’ve gone with a normal frame or a friendly punch to the shoulder instead, but then Derek turns and walks back inside, leaving the door open.

Stiles takes that as a cue to follow, as he sees Derek disappear into his bedroom with the frame. It leaves him standing in the living room twiddling his thumbs, when Stiles notices the photo he’d been carrying in his pocket all break is sitting in a frame on Derek’s new bookshelf, and he feels a wave of disappointment.

Duh, Derek decided to frame the only family photo he has. Stiles is an idiot.

He hears Derek walk back into the room and turns around to apologize, but Derek walks up next to him and sets Stiles’ frame on the shelf next to the other one.

In it is a photo of the whole pack from their beach trip this past summer, all the wolves wearing sunglasses so there’s no lens flare. Derek was even sort-of smiling.

Stiles’ heart does a little somersault and he beams wide at Derek. “Do you want to go to dinner?”

Derek’s own grin drops as his eyes widen, and Stiles feels his whole head flush red as he backtracks, “I mean, Christmas, we’re eating dinner on Christmas, today, and you should come because not Tofurkey-“ Stiles pauses to inhale loudly. “-My dad and I are cooking Christmas dinner and we’re inviting you, will you please come and help us eat overwhelming amounts of food?”

Stiles still feels like his face is burning up extra crispy, but Derek laughs and asks, “Should I bring a bottle of wine or a rabbit?” and that’s got Stiles grinning all over again.

He grabs Derek’s arm and tugs him towards the door. “Neither, but you can come now and help me make up for all the peas I could have shelled driving out here.”

“Okay,” Derek says into Stiles’ ear. “But next time, I think I’ll take you out to dinner instead.”

And just then, Stiles realizes that inviting Derek to Christmas dinner was the _worst idea ever_ , because he has no idea how he’s going to behave like a normal person for the rest of the day, not to mention for the rest of _for_ _ever_.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody! You can find me over at hologramophone.tumblr.com.


End file.
